As you may remember from OH GOD AGES AGO, the PCs awoke from the questionable shelter provided by the bodiless voice to find dwarves and undead constructing a cage around them! But they briefly recall old glory… or shame.

Alandris: Why do you always, in every campaign you try to create a situation of death by falling… and we’re NEVER prepared for it, no matter what our party configuration!
DM: It’s a classic!

Damien freaks out a while about a repeatedly-botched climb attempt in a previous campaign; the DM mourns their skipping of the room with fifteen rust monsters. The DM briefly recaps, which I have already done, but what the hell.

DM: All right, so as you recall, or don’t, last time, injured and battered, you had sought out a safe place to rest, and –
Alandris: (remembering it all in one horrid mind-searing flash) Oh!
DM: --Decided to listen to the mysterious invisible voice that had told you where to find rest. True to its word, it had protected you from any encounters in the night—
Damien: Ha ha, and we woke up SURROUNDED!
DM: Yes, you woke up surrounded with a cage being built around you.
Damien: I, I didn’t say listen to the voice.
Alandris: No one’s blaming it on you…
Damien: We don’t have a caster that could cast invisibility for the night.
DM: Dwarves, and undead! They’re taking time to make sure this is a well-constructed cage. Obviously they’re not in a hurry, because whatever is around you doesn’t appear to be preparing to disappear in the next 30 seconds or so. So they are meticulously crafting a cage built of the finest dwarven crasftsmanship and the ceasing and untiring labor of the undead.
Tyrgol: “Ah, we’re screwed.”
Damien: When is this shield supposed to end?
DM: You know, it was never specified.
Damien: Can we leave it?
Alandris: No.
Damien: How deep does it go?
DM: It’s a cube around you.
Damien: But it doesn’t go underground?
DM: No.
Damien: I start digging.
DM: It’s a cube with all sides. It doesn’t go under the ground but it’s against the ground. You’re all lucky you didn’t suffocate in here overnight.
Damien: SEE! He was trying to end the game early! He’s like, we get inside the cube and rest. He closes the book. “Oxygen was not able to get inside the cube. You all die. Except for Damien who’s healed himself through it.”
Alandris: What sort of cube is this?
DM: Force.
Alandris: So like what would you need to break it?
DM: Disintegrate spell.
Damien: Which if we had that, we would’ve easily been able to disable their cage anyways. ’Cuz I think up there you have like destruction and shatter.
Alandris: Well… I cast disintegrate.
DM: All right! You point your figure at the cage and utter the arcane words, and around you the cube of force disintegrates!
Alandris: ….roll for initiative!
DM: You find yourself staring at at least thirty dwarves and about forty undead.
Alandris: Next spell!
Damien: FIREBALL! FIREBALL!
Niobhe: This is where I bring out my holy symbol of Cuiracean…
DM: I didn’t even need to worry about coming up with an adventure for tonight, you guys just WROTE it!

The DM demands table-cleaning, and the players start rummaging for minis. Alandris in particular isn’t sure where his is.

Alandris: He had a mace, actually. I think he needed a base. I’m well on my way to becoming Dr. Seuess this evening. “He had a mace, he stood on a base, he had no face, the helmet obscured his race.”

The group is surrounded by the cage-in-progress, which hinders their movement out. All around the DM places undead and dwarves, spread out in a wide pattern around the cage. The DM draws out the cliff faces nearby and the players immediately focus on one random section, declaring it to be holding secrets and passages and god knows what else.

Damien: I need the Book of Nine Swords.
DM: Tyrgol has it, and he’s not giving it up.
Damien: Thank you, Tyrgol. He gave it up.
DM: Tyrgol, I didn’t think you were that easy.
Tyrgol: Only for you, baby.
DM: But you just gave it up for Damien.
Niobhe: He’s just a little confused.
Damien: He was challenging you to a gay-off!
DM: Nobody wins… and nobody loses!
Damien: No. Nobody wins. EVERYbody loses.

As initiative tallies are recorded, the players all race for the books to start pulling out ultimate awesome attacks they have yet to use. Damien is the first to act! He hauls himself to the top of the cage bars, dives down, and clobbers a skeleton to death. Alandris casts a mass fire shield, while Tyrgol simply leaps out and starts clobbering undead.

DM: In one horrible wave, the skeletons surge forward!
Damien: (watching a mini fall over) That skeleton got so excited he fell over!
DM: Tyrgol, what hits you?
Tyrgol: 23 or better.
DM: So the answer is, not these guys.
Alandris: Is Tyrgol just standing there, with his arms at his side—
DM: No, he’s skillfully deflecting them with his Wisdom modifier.
Alandris: I like it much better if he’s just standing there with his beard thrust out, and they’re trying to hammer through it…

Damien takes a meager 7 points of damage, and the skeleton promptly ignites from the fire shield. Niobhe nukes 24 HD of skeletons off the map, or in other words, 12. The dwarves produce crossbows and fire en masse, managing to hit only with 2 bolts to Alandris, but Niobhe takes 24 points!

DM: …as crossbow bolts punch through your armor with sheer penetrative power!
Damien: And lucky dice rolls.
Niobhe: Yeah.
Alandris: I’m surprised they didn’t all fire at her. She’s the one who can make us all better.
Damien: They don’t know. They know you’re a caster.
Niobhe: All they saw me do was lift up something!
Damien: They probably saw the undead burst, though.
DM: They vanish in a flash of positive energy, it’s fairly obvious.

Alandris makes 2 Will saving throws. The DM cheerfully passes him a malicious note.

Alandris: Tyrgol, quick! Climb back over, put me to sleep!
Tyrgol: I’m surrounded by the undead!
DM: Damien, it’s your turn. The undead around you have mostly vanished. There’s still a couple next to you.

Damien uses a maneuver to trample (literally) seven guys as he runs around the battlefield like a maniac. Every single one he stomps goes down.

DM: You move through, hewing left and right!
Alandris: Were you doing like the arms-windmill as you were running through. “If you get hit it’s your own fault!”
DM: Bones scatter left and right, powdered dust, and teeth out of skulls! At the end of the run you casually dust bone dust off yourself as a cloud of pulverized skeleton lingers behind.
Damien: The only thing more better would’ve been if I was a large creature. More better. Yes. So awesome it breaks languages.

Alandris hurls chain lightning into the fray; Damien helpfully attempts to calculate his saving throw DC.

Alandris: Let ME add it!
Damien: No, you’ll take forever!
DM: Would you like the good news or the bad news.
Alandris: Tell me the bad news.
DM: Three of them saved.
Damien: The rest did not?
DM: The rest did not. (scooping up a host of minis)
Damien: GOOD GOD!
DM: And just like that the battlefield is substantially more empty.
Damien: I didn’t want to put it in front of you, so if you want to do one of your hokey dance moves again, you didn’t run out of people to kill.

Tyrgol takes a meager 7 points of damage from attacking skeletons, who promptly burst into flames. Tyrgol grows increasingly irritated at his inability to take down lowly skeletons in one blow. Niobhe takes 6 points of damage.

DM: Also you get to watch as this guy who Tyrgol was facing… collapses with a crossbow bolt protruding from the back of his head. Someone was too hasty on the draw.

Niobhe blasts away every remaining skeleton, leaving a bunch of unhappy dwarves. Damien is called upon to make two Will saves; the DM does NOT pass him a note, as he rolls 28 and 32. He uses Searing Charge to go stomp some dudes. Alandris pitches a fireball into the fray.

Alandris: 48.
DM: Doesn’t even matter if they save or not…

Tyrgol delivers a vicious Charging Minotaur attack, slamming the dwarf backwards into a friend and down. Niobhe cautiously cures herself, but is immediately crit, though only for 11 (and a nasty corneal scratch). Damien drops an injured dwarf without even the pretense of a roll. Alandris hurls a fireball into the lines, but rolls oddly poorly – nevertheless, dwarves die!

DM: Tyrgol, the wall of flames erupts so close to you you can feel the edges of your beard tatter and crinkle!
Alandris: “Sorry!”
Tyrgol: “What the hell, man!”

Tyrgol drops one almost casually. Niobhe hurls a Flame Strike onto three guys, leaving none behind! The dwarves’ turn comes around; they turn and run like hell. Alandris claims more kills with a fireball, and tosses some more minis in the pile.

Alandris: Look at that corpse pile! This is awesome! Okay, so we are victorious… “Tyrgol! Come bend these bars and get us out of here!”
Tyrgol: “All right, lesson learned, do not listen to disembodied voices.”
Damien: “Well, I think it worked out in the end.”
Alandris: “Oh yes. They’ll know not to mess with us again anytime soon.”
Tyrgol: A 20 to bend those bars.
Alandris: “Come Damien, come lend your strength to his!”
DM: Tyrgol has bent the bars. The two of you may make your way out.
Tyrgol: Can I grapple the bars?
DM: The bars are now unconscious.
Alandris: You pinned them to death!
DM: Sorry, Tyrgol, the bars WON, you’re like all tied up in one. “What the… I didnae expect this!”
Tyrgol: “What was I drinking last night?’
DM: You’re Tyrgol, what WEREN’T you drinking?
Damien: “You got drunk and began to grapple everybody.” The officer asks us what happens… “Well it looks like he got drunk and began grappling people to unconsciousness. But then we got to a pony… and he lost. We don’t know what happened, this was a particularly sickly pony…”
Tyrgol: In this world ponies now have a bonus to their grapple. They’ve evolved.
Damien: Remember, all ponies inside the kingdom they were taken out, but outside they’re alive. He returns to the kingdom. “All ponies must be DESTROYED.”

The party considers just how much damage has been done to the dwarven farmlands. Damien remembers those Will saving throws.

Damien: We’ll never know what that spell did. That makes me sad. Somewhat.
Alandris: ‘Tis a shame.
Damien: I think we should kill him, just in case.
Tyrgol: I’m going to initiate a grapple on Alandris.
Alandris: “And you turn on me now? What is this?”
Damien: Some mystical being handed you a sheet of paper.
Tyrgol: What the hell is that hand coming down from the sky? Why is he giving you a piece of paper, Alandris? Alandris?! What’s going on!?
Damien: That wasn’t the hand of MY god!
DM: You guys put the ‘team’ in ‘meta’.

The group prepares to install automatic fines for meta roleplay a la Demolition Man. It wanders into mockery of Stallone, as if this is original and clever.

Damien: “Voice? Voice? Voice?”
DM: “Yes?”
Damien: “What happened.”
DM: “Well, it appears you beat my many minions.”
Alandris: Is the voice talking to us again?
Tyrgol: “Who are ya?”
Damien: “Oh, oh, see, a little trap. Where are you, I need to flex in your direction.” (a pause) “Ah, see, now you’re not talking any more. Your minions failed.”
DM: “No no, I’m just letting you get your little braggadocio out of that way.”
Damien: “Oh. Yeah, it’s done.”
Alandris: The hand in the sky hands you a Deck of Many Things.
Tyrgol: With a note: you must draw them all. The hand in the sky is bending the rules, just for me.
DM: “Rules” for a Deck of Many Things?
Damien: You’re dead.
DM: A Deck of One Thing. What is that one thing? Donjon.
Damien: All your levels have been converted to… uh…
Niobhe: Commoner food!
Tyrgol: We’re all an NPC class now.
DM: You’re an expert! You have 25 ranks in Knowledge(grappling).
Tyrgol: “I can tell ya how to grapple… I can’t do it, though.”
Damien: “Are you gonna reveal yourself so we can just kill you and get it over with?”
DM: “I’m already dead, I’m afraid you’re not gonna get too far with that.”
Damien: “Oh.”
Tyrgol: “Then let’s lay your soul to rest.”
DM: “Well I rather like it not being laid to rest. Gets a lot more needed exercise that way. Besides, I have a proposition for you.”
Tyrgol: “Oh yes, let’s sleep again, let ‘em finish building the cage.”
DM: “If I wanted to cast forcecage on you I’d just do it.” (glancing down at the map) “Especially since you’ve so conveniently grouped yourself up in a so easily forcecageable mass.”

The players immediately spread their minis apart with the utmost speed.

Alandris: “That won’t be necessary.”
Damien: Oh no. OH NO! I KNEW IT! YOU SHOULD’VE BEEN GRAPPLING HIM ALREADY!
Tyrgol: I’m initiating a grapple!
Alandris: Sudden Empower a Greater Fireburst.
Damien: You better make a Concentration check ‘cuz I’m punching your ass!
DM: You don’t know he’s casting something against you!
Tyrgol: Awww.

Niobhe rolls Spellcraft to identify himself as Damien sets off the meta alarm something fierce. She identifies the spell and the group furiously attempts to justify punching Alandris. They mostly fail, but…

Niobhe: I don’t care, I’m punching him! We can discuss it later! I’m breaking his Concentration.

The DM challenges them to beat Alandris’s initiative. They can’t. Damien fails his Reflex save. Alandris cheerfully shows them the note the DM had passed.

Niobhe: (reading outloud) “…biggest dick-move spell you can on your friends.”
Alandris: Well, it would’ve been a much bigger dick move if you all hadn’t made your stinking saves.
DM: Isn’t that always the way?

Alandris slowly rolls damage while the players bemoan their fates. The DM calls for Sense Motive checks.

Damien: Wait, wait, he just fucking firebursts me, I gotta determine whether or not this is an accident? I sense his fucking motive.
DM: You all realize he’s under the influence of an enchantment.
Damien: No, I’ve lowered mine… I believe he’s turned on us!
Niobhe: ENCHANTMENT!

Alandris deals 102 to Damien and 51 to everyone else. His mind returns to his own control, and he is aware he has been Dominated and will still act according to the voice’s commands, if one is given.

Alandris: “Take me out as fast as you can!”
Damien: I could kill you now…
Alandris: Well that’s what I just told you to do, so stop talking and get to it.
Damien: I don’t WANT to kill you…

Damien clocks Alandris for a consciousness-reducing cocktail of lethal and nonlethal… almost killing him by accident, but he doesn’t confirm the crit. Tyrgol latches onto him and Niobhe starts pimp-slapping him with a mace. The voice smugly suggests he defend himself… now that he’s in a totally terrible position. Unsurprisingly, his Concentration check fails. Damien clocks him for more subdual damage, and out he goes.

DM: “Now then, I could just drop another fireball into the middle of you all and finish this whimsical farce, or you could actually listen to my proposition.”
Damien: “We never said we wouldn’t listen to you. You just decided to make him do something.”
DM: “No no, he just decided to do that of his own accord.”
Damien: “No no. We know you did something to him.”
DM: “I told him to do something nasty to you guys, but I didn’t specify what or when. That was his own sick little mind that picked that time and that spell. Look at him grinning in his sleep. Isn’t he adorable!

Niobhe casts some mass curing. The mysterious voice tells them that he was gathering an army out of all these lost, leaderless dwarves – and that he is not from this plane.

Alandris: Didn’t he said he was dead?
Damien: Well – yeah, I don’t think he was dead BEFORE the battle started…
DM: “I’ve been dead for QUITE a long time now. It’s really quite refreshing, maybe someday you’ll try it.”
Alandris: I TRIED to try it…
DM: “For you see, I understand your world has a little bit of a demon problem.”
Alandris: It’s the Master come back! ‘Cuz he’s dead!
Damien: He said ‘quite a while’, not, “I’ve been dead for a couple months since that jackoff Barack killed me.”
Alandris: Well he said he was from another plane, we didn’t know if he was alive or dead.
DM: No, he was a Cerilian necromancer.
Alandris: Eh.
Damien: He just opened up a gate to the other plane.
DM: No, that was the Sword Mage.
Damien: Oh. Dumbass.
Alandris: Yeah, ‘cuz the thing I stabbed in the heart I thought was his – no, that was something else, but wasn’t it working with the Master?
Damien: No, the Master was a confirmed kill. The Sword Mage was not – apparently. The King of Ghoere was not, we never attacked him. We don’t know what happened to Mahlissa…
DM: Oh you guys attacked him like crazy!
Damien: I meant Barack’s game!
Alandris: We DID kill the Sword Mage.
Damien: No! He somehow survived. We don’t know the terminology but he did somehow live.
Niobhe: Probably used a simulacrum or something like that.
Damien: Anyway, after his throwing up the VILE DAMAGE… and all that other crap…

The players inexplicably start rolling for how many Sword Mages exist, how many fists Damien has, how many Gavin Taels exist…

Damien: There are currently… five tarrasques. And they’ve joined forced under the leader. Ultratarrasque.
DM: Yes. They’re a gestalt-forming tarrasque.
Niobhe: The Mighty Mutilatin’ Tarrasque Rangers.
Alandris: Well, at least at that big, it’ll have a shitty armor class.
DM: Yes, I’m sure that’s some consolation.
Alandris: Wail on its toe.
DM: All right, you did six hit points to it from wailing on its toe. Only 6,497 to go. Oh, it’s regenerating too.

The invisible force reveals that the demon lord leading the Cerilian invasion is an enemy of his. Damien belabors the point that the voice is attacking anyone BUT. Alandris repeatedly drags himself to consciousness, adds commentary, then goes right back down again.

DM: “Well he’s rather hard to get to from across the mountains, now isn’t he.”
Alandris: “Shouldn’t be any problem for a disembodied floating voice! Uuuugh….”
DM: “Well if you have a better way to get me through the mountains than destroying the dwarven kingdom and pillaging all who come before me, I’d like to hear it.”
Damien: “See, that’s where you’re making another enemy! You could be like, hey, people of this world, I want to help you. You could’ve PRETENDED to be a good guy, and done your little evil thing and killed us all at the end, but no, you had to go this way, and now I don’t know what to do.”
DM: “So you’re saying I should’ve been a bigger dick.”
Damien: “YES. You seem like a very poor villain to me… but see, that’s me…”
DM: “You’re overestimating how much I actually care. You see I really don’t.”
Damien: “Then why are you doing it in the first place?! You see, you’ve just discredited yourself.” I’m gonna talk him out of it!
Alandris: The bad guy that couldn’t be bothered to care.
Damien: I don’t understand his motives at all! He doesn’t have ‘em! He’s like, ‘huh, my demon foe is there, should I kill him? Naaaw. I’ll lazily put an army together… I’ll attack the dwarves… does it help me kill the demon? No. I’ll just do it. The people are defeating me. I could kill those people with a lot of fireballs. No, I’m gonna trap ‘em in a cage and let my dwarves get destroyed by them. And then I’m gonna talk a lot.’
Tyrgol: “So you wiped out all the Stonebeards, are any of them alive still?”
DM: “I think some managed to retreat.”
Tyrgol: “Where?”
DM: “Oh, down into your hills or caves or wherever. I didn’t follow them.”
Damien: Oh, this guy’s a…
Niobhe: Douche? Is that the word you’re looking for? Douche?
DM: “Yes, THANK you! You’re beginning to understand now.”
Alandris: It’s the ghost of the DM. From another plane. We’re actually dealing with the DM in game. This IS the DM.

Damien demands to know what the voice wants of them, which turns out to be passage for his army. Niobhe demands to know why he doesn’t just teleport the army. The voice responds that he’s lazy and apathetic. The party decides to mock and insult him!

Damien: I think this is what all gods become like, though. They die, get really powerful, then they just get lazy and annoyed. Why can’t you be like Zordon? “Power Rangers!”
Niobhe: “I’m stuck in a tube!”

They continue to argue and generally complain, big shock there.

Damien: Just a question, what would’ve happened if we’d just stayed in and the cage trapped us, what would he do?
DM: You’ll never know.
Niobhe: He hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.
Damien: He hadn’t made that up yet.
Tyrgol: That’s what I was gonna say too.
Damien: Meta. Meta. Meta.

The lich is spontaneously recast as emo and depressed. The lich reveals, or reminds, the group that Cerilia is now open to the planes, and that door can never be closed, once opened. The lich offers them infernal pacts in exchange for powers they already have.

DM: “You can heal him now, I’ve dismissed the dominate.”
Tyrgol: “Yeah, we’ll wake him up sometime.”
DM: “I’d almost think you don’t trust me!”
Damien: “We’re gonna get him some borderline brain damage and THEN we’ll wake him up.”
DM: Alandris, your warmage edge is now negative.
Alandris: I’m WARMAGE.
DM: You’re a warmage savant. Your intelligence score is now 4 for every purpose but casting spells. When it comes to spells you’re a genius! You’re also mildly autistic. That’s unrelated but I thought I’d mention it anyway.
Damien: We probably should’ve punched him in the face, so now he kinda looks the part.
Alandris: The dwarves are shooting crossbow bolts from 30 feet away! SHOCKING GRASP! “It’s not working!”
DM: That’s what happened when you have only one eye. “What do you mean that wasn’t a normal human, but a stone giant who was much further away? Damn it! No wonder I couldn’t hit him. Depth perception, my old nemesis!
Damien: “So we can’t convince you to move your army another way?”
DM: “I dunno, what’ve you got to convince me with?”
Damien: “You get to your foes faster?’
DM: “I don’t care how long it takes, I’m not exactly on a limited schedule here.”
Damien: “So if you go AROUND, it doesn’t matter!”
DM: “But that’s less fun.”
Alandris: Offer him something else he can enslave as his army.
Damien: Look, I’m pretty sure booze and pussy isn’t gonna work for this guy.
DM: “All right, I’ll let you pick which country I destroy on your rampage?’
Tyrgol: “No, that’s okay.”
Damien: “Tiptoe around! It can be a fun game!”

The players and the DM continue to argue in circles, but the lich really isn’t interested in not being a douche. The players try to understand his path.

Tyrgol: He’s going in a weird direction. What the fuck kind of weird-ass path is that guy fucking taking?
Damien: Fuck the elves! Wait, our allies are the elves. I keep forgetting what game we’re in.

The lich makes his position clear: he’s here to wreck some shit. At this, Damien waxes visibly wroth.

Damien: I think he wrote the game, this big bullshit with this guy all fucking night long. I hate you, DM. Shut this motherufucker up. Get to the goddamn point. Please. Please get to the fucking point. Please. I don’t care if the meta alarm goes fucking crazy at this point, I don’t give a shit, just get to the god. Damn. Point. (a pause) I wanna see just the report on that one.
Niobhe: I think this is filed under “Baby Damien want justice.”
Damien: I don’t wanna waste any more time! We’ve wasted thirty minutes, not even douching around ourselves, not in an RPG, just fighting the goddamn guy who doesn’t want anything!

Tyrgol rage-quits, scooping everyone up and using his blood power to teleport back to the dwarven capital through stone. He appears in his private chambers in his clanhall, though they all fear being followed.

DM: You appear in Tyrgol’s private chambers, which are known so intimately to you after that time you beat him up as a demon. An innocent chambermaid is changing the sheets. As you all burst up out of the stone, she screams, stumbles backward over the bed, and crashes down on the other side, bonking her head ON THE TOWEL RACKS!!
Tyrgol: I don’t have towel racks in my room—
DM: YES YOU DO, I DREW THEM THERE!
Alandris: That’s right!
Damien: His wall is covered in towel racks now. There’s no way she could’ve missed a towel rack.

A joke about mistreatment of the chambermaid goes on for so alarmingly long that Alandris renames the campaign to Dwarven Chambermaid Rape 1. Tyrgol and Niobhe head for the thanehall while Damien takes Alandris to the clerics. The clanhall is unusually decorated, with its finest on display.

Tyrgol: “What’s goin’ on? What’s with all the streamers?”
DM: “Well we’re preparin’ for the great contest, sir!”
Tyrgol: “Oh right. That. All right, off to see the thane. Good luck… decorating?”
DM: “Thank ya, sir.” He continues to hang out of a bad that says “Painting: $5.95/lb.”
Damien: There’s a guy who sells paintings by the pound? That doesn’t make any sense!
Tyrgol: I skid comically in front of the thanehall.
DM: The floor has been freshly waxed. You skid past and out the window.
Tyrgol: I roll a natural 20 on my Tumble!
DM: All right, you take no damage from going out the window, except when you hit the nine hundred foot fall from the freshly-installed crevasse.
Tyrgol: Aww.
DM: The finest crevasse in the land has been installed for this upcoming festivity.
Damien: Is that his new assassination defense system?

Damien plans to have permanent grease effects installed on Barack’s throne, while Tyrgol bursts in and interrupts the thane’s planning.

DM: “Tyrgol, what can I do for ya?”
Tyrgol: “Emergency sir, I need ta talk with ya alone for a moment.”
DM: “All right, everybody, take five, grab some beer – Tyrgol, come back here!”
Tyrgol: “Oh, sorry – here, have a mug.”
Damien: Did you give him a mug of the perfect ale?
DM: He turned that over to the priests long ago. It lasted three fucking hours in their hands.
Damien: Wait a minute, HOURS?

The group constructs an image of a priest confessing in between chugs of the holy ale. Tyrgol tells the thane briefly of their trevails and the incoming threat. With Overthane Hendlar absent, the dwarves have been handling things in-clan, so there’s not much hope for a swift response.

Tyrgol: “My lord, permission to brag for a moment?”
DM: “Aye?”
Tyrgol: “I choked a chimera to death.”
DM: “But… they have three…”
Tyrgol: “Aye.”
DM: “Come on. Come on…”
Tyrgol: “We need to act and act fast.”
DM: “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. You guys get back to plannin’ that whole tournament thing. This whole thing… um. Integrate it. Ya wanted some challenge where they did something really fucking impressive, ya got it. If ya can’t defend the homelands from an asston of undead ya don’t deserve ta be the Avatar of Moradin.”
Damien: Wow.
DM: “That’s reasonable, right?”
Tyrgol: “There ya go.”
DM: “All right, then, we’re good.”
Damien: Bonus points, kill the disembodied voice. Not required, but if you pull it off, bonus points.

Meanwhile, Damien arrived at the temple, cheerfully interrupting a prayer. Recognizing a friend of Tyrgol, an acolyte takes him straight back to the high priest. The priests detects no magic still lingering on Alandris, to everyone’s relief, then heals Alandris.

DM: You’re awake.
Alandris: “Kill them all. Kill them all.”
Damien: “All right, listen. It’s been ten years later. The dwarves are gone.
DM: You’re feeding this line of shit next to the obvious dwarven high priest…
Damien: “We’re at the edge of Khinasi territory. We’ve been pushed back this far. The dwarves are extinct. Don’t mind him, he’s an illusion.”
DM: “Please state the nature of yer medical emergency.”

Alandris regrets not killing Damien more effectively. Damien, cheerfully listing his save modifiers, realizes to his horror that he’d applied his Fortitude bonus to the greater fireburst, not his Reflex one; he should have passed that save. Alandris casts Slapping Hand and demands the high priest take his free AOO to Damien’s ribs.

DM: Sadly this cleric was in fact only a level 2 cleric, the remaining 17 levels were all in monk.
Alandris: Heh heh. Monk.
Damien: No, the remaining in Captain Falcon class. FALCON PAAAWNCH! And he just got the level that allows him to use Falcon Punch as an AOO.

Alandris pretends to be brain-damaged just to dick with Damien. The DM awards experience to them for their many victories. They head for the tavern, believing that this is where they will meet the other party members. This was never discussed, but it’s a very good assumption. Damien attempted to order a Crashed Airship. Tyrgol suddenly retcons the conversation with the thane to mention the ravaged corridor they had walked through. Then he and Niobhe show up in the bar!

Damien: Oh no, you know what we didn’t do? WE DIDN’T LOOT THE FIELD!
Alandris: He’ll get it to us somehow.
DM: I like how Alandris trusts me.
Damien: That fucking douchebag almost took our axe away. If we didn’t complain and almost start an uprising… All of a sudden the guy comes out, “Oh here’s your axe.”
DM: It was always going to be that way!
Damien: Yeah. Right.
Alandris: Moradin decides to settle up accounts with you, and decides there’s been an error in your favor. He hands you… 300 silver pieces… an elaborate tapestry…
Tyrgol: “What the?”
DM: “I’m sorry, the last guy brought in three and I’ve been tryin’ ta get rid of ‘em. But ya have no idea how rarely someone needs elaborate tapestries in change.”
Alandris: Two… solid… well-cut gems…
DM: A chess set. “I just thought of you when I got that.”
Alandris: A masterwork… quarterstaff…

The players convert the crappy god-loot into booze and drink! Drink! Drink! Alandris casts cantrips around in drunken good humor while Tyrgol sings drunk songs. Damien ponders his next level.

Damien: Oh man, I wish I had this maneuver. Eliminates all dwarves within 122’ radius. Only usable in bullshit encounters done by inanimate voices…

The groups handwave their explanations to each other about their respective conversations. Alandris wasn’t paying attention, so Damien attempts to summarize for him, but it only confuses him more.

Damien: We might have to try to get some equipment that enhances our defense against mental attacks. Hell, he could be listening to us right now and we wouldn’t really know.
DM: “Don’t worry, I’m not.” …..meta. Meta.
Damien: Okay, the meta alarm’s on. We might want to try to figure out some ways of defending ourselves against him, We can’t be positive he’s not listening to us now—
DM: “Don’t worry, I’m not.” …..meta. Meta.

With the thanes still needing to meet, there’s little the party can do for the moment, though they’re eager to get a jump on their foe. They continue to toss out ideas.

Damien: Based on what Tyrgol’s god said, they’re aware of other planes, right?
DM: Yes!
Damien: Maybe we should go to the clerics, and have them…. Divination, I got it right—
DM: Ten experience.
Damien: Yay! And ask them to ask their gods on if they have any advice to deal with this lich. If we can’t attack him directly, maybe some defenses will help. ‘Cuz if we’re trying to fight a battle, and he’s dominating our soldiers’ minds… and some of these people are a lot less heartier than us, it could become…
Tyrgol: Are they closed?
DM: They’re always open but if you go in now they’ll probably just put you to bed. Which actually might not be a bad idea for you guys anyway.

Damien rambles on for a minute about the upcoming battle as the DM continues to nudge them to go to sleep and let the campaign progress.

Damien: We talk to the innkeeper, we all spread out amongst four beds… the screen goes dark, some music plays.
DM: Five minutes later, you all feel better even though you haven’t rested at all.
Damien: No no, better yet, we enter the machine, we come out of the machine, but we’re—
Damien and DM: Still hungry.
Damien: I love it when you first get there… I’m pretty sure we ate before we came here, it’s only been like an hour, I think we’re fine.
Tyrgol: I have a Ring of Sustenance…
Damien: But you’re still hungry for some reason.
DM: You wake up to find a thane caught between your burly hands.
Tyrgol: “Aww dammit! Moradin whyyyyyyyyyy?”
DM: “Sorry! I can’t take it out of you if it’s in yer nature, lad.” “I guess I’m a thanekiller. Welp, I know what my next level is in! Thanekiller.”
Tyrgol: I need you to make me a prestige class, DM.
DM: Like Awnshegh Slayer except for thanes.
Damien: Well he’s already killed one, he’s completed the requirement!
DM: Now he has to make armor out of his corpse. His beard is your shield, you’ve waxed it to a fine hardness.
Damien: You’ve created fine leather armor that coats your body like a second skin.
DM: And you wondered why that armorsmith was so suspicious.

The party awakens, and are informed that many prospective applicants for the contest have arrived; do they want to interview them? Damien immediately tried to beg off in the hopes of talking to gods instead, then immediately changes his tune when he realizes what the interviews will be like. Moradin is depicted as a very homophobic god for some reason. They head first to the clerics.

Damien: “We had some thoughts about this extraplanar being.”
DM: “Aw, you guys have really got ta get yer shit under control, I’m tired of havin’ ta give ya the first pass in the line every time ya get here. There’re OTHER people here!”
Damien: “Uh listen buddy, we can wait till the end of the line. I’m sure this guy over here who’s suffering smallpox, and then us, who needs to deal with a being who can dominate people’s minds and throw fireballs all over the place and kill millions, is less important. Please sir, go ahead, you have about five years to live if you DID talk to this guy.”
DM: “You’re not understandin’ what I’m sayin’, I’m sayin’ we need to get RID of all your problems so ya stop comin’ here and needin’ to come here.”
Damien: “Okay then, here you go, here’s our list of problems. We have an army coming to destroy you. Can you take care of that? Now?”
DM: “All right, all right, I assume yer here for a reason? Why don’t you tell me the reason.”
Damien: “We have an extraplanar being we were talking about earlier, who dominated our friend here, and we would like you to speak to the god, since our last visit with them we found out they were well aware of the other myriad of world and other planes, and they might know how to deal with this invisible extraplanar being and at least give us some advice on how to defend ourselves against his attacks.”
DM: “All right, I’ll have an answer for ya tomorrow.”

A pause.

Damien: “I’m gonna stand here and stare at you.”
DM: “That’s not gonna make me have the spells to perform the divination any more prepared, no matter how much ya stare at me.”
Damien: “You act like I have better stuff to do. I can’t go anywhere…”

Damien remembers he does have something better to do, and the group goes off to be the judges for Dwarven Idol, as Alandris puts it.

Tyrgol: How many people made it in?
DM: There are about sixty there.
Damien: This is gonna be fun! We’re gonna make you go through them all!
Alandris: This is the audition phase, it’s like the funny episode of Dwarven Idol.
Damien: I’m sitting next to him, I’m helping with this!
DM: There’s a large crowd, talking amongst them, eying each other.
Alandris: “Aye”-ing each other?”
DM and Alandris: Aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye.
Damien: “I heard rumors among human kingdoms that you all did that, and I thought it was just a joke… anyways, we’re gonna go in order, how you arrived, so line up please.”
Tyrgol: “First!”
DM: They stare at each other and then begin trying to line up. Elbowing, pushing—
Damien: “All right, we’re here all day, guys.”
Tyrgol: “We’re not children! Except for you, ya little bastard. Get outta here.”
DM: That was the first guy in line. If you were human you’d say he was 15, but he’s a dwarf so he’s the equivalent of that.
Tyrgol: “You, you’re too young, beat it.”
DM: “But sir--!”
Tyrgol: “Ya have ta be an adult.”
DM: “There was never an age limit! I can be suited to be in this contest as much as anybody!”
Damien: “We’ll give him a chance.”
Niobhe: “How can you give him a chance, he hasn’t even got a beard yet!”
DM: He has one, it’s only just down to here.
Damien: Quickly I fashion a standing dwarf, with a beard going down so far, and it’s just a bit farther than his beard. “Must be this far…”
DM: “Aww come on!”
Damien: “Come tomorrow when your beard is long enough… and the little figure there will be made so you still don’t make it.”
DM: The disappointed dwarven youth trudges off.
Damien: “No, no, we’ll let him. What’s your name?”
DM: “Durun, sir!”
Damien: “Durun, you got a clan?’
DM: “Stainedbeard!”
Niobhe: “Get out of here.”
Damien: “What makes you think you are a hearty enough dwarf for such an activity?”
DM: “Well look at me, I’m a hearty dwarf, I—I’ve done my dwarfly duties to the best I can, I’m a fine food-taster, sir, I’m a food taster to the underthane of the underthane… I’m very good at my job, he hasn’t been poisoned yet, and neither have I.”
Damien: “All right, you say you’re a food-taster... being an avatar also means extensive knowledge in combat as well.”
DM: “I can learn that! I have a mean way with a, with a… with a bastin’ fork! And a servin’ knife sir.”
Damien: “Um, part of the task, we’re deciding who’s gonna be in the tournament, because the tournament will decide the activities, none of which are tasting food—“
DM: “Well perhaps they should, sir, enjoying food is very much a part of dwarven life.”
Damien: “Yyyeeeess... eating contest – are we doing the eating contest?”
Tyrgol: “No!”
DM: “Drinking contest?”
Tyrgol: “Of course.”
DM: “Well that’s close enough.”
Tyrgol: “You don’t chew your beer! Except that one beer we had last year…”
DM: “I’ll put my ability to drink that brew up against anybody’s! Let’s see any other dwarf say that they can quaff it! …aside from you, sir.”
Tyrgol: I was gonna say… “Give me two glasses!”
DM: “Sir, they don’t come in glasses, they come in plates.”
Damien: “Since we’re going to have so many applicants, we’re gonna have a pre-journey of sorts. This journey’s gonna have a lot of heavy combat. Are you sure you’re up for such a task.”
DM: “I, I want to be the avatar, sir!”
Tyrgol: “A lot of people want to be the avatar, lad.”
DM: “I can see that, there’s a line.”
Tyrgol: “Aye. At least you’re not stupid.”
Alandris: This would be where me having summon monster would come in handy. “Fight that thing.”
Damien: I’m sure we could put together – there’s probably some attack dummies!
Tyrgol: “Who wants to spar with this young lad?”
Alandris: Why don’t we just have a dwarven Royal Rumble?
DM: The guy behind him quietly whips out a small sap, clops him over the head. The young dwarf drops like a sack of bone.
Tyrgol: “All right, to the back of the line. That was uncalled for, lad.”
DM: “I was sparrin’.”
Tyrgol: “That wasn’t sparrin’, that was knockin’ him unconscious!”
DM: “A good dwarf would have been able to take it.”
Alandris: “He has a point.”
DM: “Now Tyrgol, if I had done that to you, if I had clocked you over the back’a the head with this wee little thing, what would you have done?’
Tyrgol: “Turned around, grappled ya, and put ya into slumber in no time flat.”
DM: “Ya see. He wasn’t suited.”
Tyrgol: “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t dirty… aagh, fine, get the lad outta here. Give ‘im a beer.”
DM: They drag him off.
Damien: “All right, since you’ve finely displayed your combat prowess, what is your name, sir?”
DM: “Vindlar, sir, of the Watershold clan.”
Damien: “Watershold, all right, what makes you – are you a hearty enough dwarf—“
DM: “Do I seem hearty?”
Alandris: “We can just sap these dwarves for an hour…”
Damien: “You seem fairly hearty.”
Alandris: “That could be passing the entrance test, letting him sap every single contestant. All the ones that can take it, without becoming unconscious, move on to phase 2!”
Damien: “This is not a ninja competition, okay? There are only five contestants, why are there only five contestants? Because those five killed the other three hundred before the competition started.”
Alandris: “He said, a good dwarf would be able to take it, and I agreed with him! All the ones that can take it get to move on to the next round!”
Damien: “The problem with that is, the kid wasn’t prepared for it, now the rest of them are prepared for this sudden strike.”
Alandris: “It’s not sneak attack…”
Tygol: “It’s still a clock to the back of the head.”
DM: You grapple them, they’re denied their Dexterity…
Tyrgol: “You lad! The Watershold boy. You just gave us a great idea.”
DM: “All righty, I assume I get bonus points.”
Tyrgol: “You get to go first. Give me your sap. Turn around.”
DM: “Let me point out yer not quite as trained in its use as I am.”
Damien: “Oh, don’t worry about it. Listen, uh, why don’t you tell me what the three lines on that sheet over there are?’
Tyrgol: “Wargh!”
DM: “You don’t even need to pretend, I can see what’s comin’, sir!”
Damien: “I’m not pretending, I seriously need you to read those three lines over there.”
DM: “All right, well, Tyrgol’ll need to let me go so I can do that.”
Alandris: “We should have a private room, so they don’t all see it coming…”
Damien: The three words are, “You are hit.” Thunk!
DM: Let’s see here, a sap does…. 1d6 damage.
Damien: Aaaah, I coulda done a karate chop…

After a meta reveal that this dude in fact has sneak attack dice to add to the sap damage, Alandris plots the drinking contest. Damien is also plotting.

Damien: I want him to have to make up 60 dwarves off the top of his head. And names. And then remember the ones we pass.
Tyrgol: “What’s yer combat expertise?”
DM: “I’m a… precise hitter. I may not be the best at standin’ up and facin’ the sword and shield, but when an enemy is at his weakest I can make certain ta take it out.”
Damien: “If you were tasked with the job of weakening an armed force by yourself, a large force that’s… theoretically attacking your home, what would you do?”
DM: “What’s the force composed of?”
Damien: “Mostly Mur-kilad dwarves, I know you’re not a fan of those, and undead.”
DM: “Ah, that’s tough. How many are there?”
Damien: “Uh, you’re dealing with, uh, we – you’ve been tasked with a particular normal sized unit. About 200 dwarves and undead.”
DM: “What resources do I have?”
Damien: “You have access to the finest gear the kingdom can provide. If you want a couple other people, you can have a couple other people’s skill at yourself. How would you deal with this?”
DM: “I would, at the dark of the night, when their guards are lowest, take out their food supplies and beer supplies. And leave a message showing clearly that their enemies did it. That would cause them not only to be hungry, and more importantly, bereft of bear, but would also demoralize them and make them weaker.”
Damien: “An excellent strategy.”
Tyrgol: “Your strategies are sound an’ such, but a dwarven avatar is a prominent dwarven figure, willing to show himself in battle rather than hiding in the shadows.”
DM: “Aye sir, but that does not preclude sensitive and cautious use of tactics! No battle will be decided through theft and skullduggery, but a little beforehand certainly can’t hurt if it tips the odds.”
Tyrgol: “Very wise, very wise.”
DM: You’re taking notes. Ideas the DM is giving us through nonplayer characters on how to win this battle.

Damien shortlists the dwarf and Tyrgol approves. They call for the next one.

DM: Up next steps forth a very tall and thin dwarf.
Damien: Oh my god, it’s the tallest dwarf I’ve ever seen! FOUR FEET!
Alandris: I snuck myself into the list.
Damien: What are you, walking around on your knees?!
Alandris: Yes! I’ve got a Yoghurt outfit.
Damien: Yeah, he’s got a – roll your Disguise, I wanna see how good your disguise is, if we can detect it.
Alandris: My disguise, untrained, is an 18.
Tyrgol: “What is your name, lad?”
DM: “Arduf of the Shadowforge clan.”
Tyrgol: “Shadowforge, eh?”
Alandris: Those’re the evil – well, they’re the Starscream clan.
DM: They’re not that bad!
Damien: I can imagine the Shadowforge clan hanging around Hendlar. Every time he gets… anything, “Oh the Hendlar is TOO WEAK! I am now Overthane!” “Ow, my knee.” “I am now leader of the dwarves!”
DM: “Oh, those chicken wings have turned on me—“ “OH, how the MIGHTY HENDLAR has fallen!” “Dirk, take care of him!” “As you command, Hendlar. Natural 20, eject! Operation: Succeed!”
Damien: “What is your combat expertise?”
DM: “Well, I’m an intellectual, my dear sir. Combat is overrated, it is held too highly among the dwarves and the people. However, Moradin is not—“
Tyrgol: “Next.”
DM: “Sir, this is unfair! Any moron can lift their axe or sword in service to Moradin, but only a wise and educated dwarf can truly serve the TRUE interests of Moradin! What good is it if you have a fool up there, hefting the sword of Moradin, it’s useless!”
Alandris: “Sound lance!”
Tyrgol: “Aye, and he’s not the avatar of Moradin either, so yes, next!”
DM: “This is uncalled for! Ye can’t shut down intellectualism like this!”
Tyrgol: “I want an intelligent dwarf, the last one was very smart, but combat is very much part of the dwarven life!”
Damien: “Let’s ask him another question, we’ll ask him the same question. If you’re put up against a unit, you’re given the resources of an elite team of five, including yourself, you’ve been tasked to disable or take out a unit—“
DM: Hold on, I can do this in half a sentence and one word. “Well sir, I would first attempt diplomatic negotiations—“ “NEXT.”
Damien: “Yeah, listen, being the avatar is more than just being intelligent and being well-spoken, and combat is a BIG section of that.”
Tyrgol: “Aye, we want an example of dwarfkind, and you’re overinflating one part of it.”
DM: “Oh, this is an outrage, combat is only the least important part of blah, blah, blah—“ (making a motion as of a sap striking the back of a head.)
Tyrgol: “Vindlar, you just got a check next to your name. I don’t know what it means, but I’ll be keeping an eye on it.”
Damien: “Next.” Oh, we gotta go through him, next is our disguised… let’s see if I can see through his disguise. What would it be, Sense Motive?
DM: …Making me look up Diguise for this bullshit…!
Damien: This is fun!
DM: You have to make a Spot check.
Damien: Think my Spot’s too good, though… and I rolled a 1. Definitely do not see through his disguise. “Oh, you’re a pretty good-looking dwarf.”
Alandris: “Aye!”

In the background, Niobhe and the DM are crippled with laughter.

Tyrgol: I got a 22. I see it’s Alandris.
Damien: “Okay, what’s your name?”
Tyrgol: I’m gonna let it go for a little bit…
Damien: “What’s your name, dwarf?”
Alandris: “I be… Hendlar Hammerson.”
Damien: “Hendlar Hammerson, oh wow, he has the name of—“
Tyrgol: “Interesting, Hammerson’s not one of the clan names, where’s you get that one?”
Alandris: “We just started.”

Once again, the DM and Niobhe are paralytic with laughter.

Alandris: “I’m actually the only one at the moment.”
Damien: “A new clan! That’s – I don’t even know if that’s possible, but my partner here isn’t saying anything.”
Alandris: “Well it’s not as though you’re a dwarf, I think I’m more of an authority on whether or not I’m a dwarf!”
Damien: “Okay, buddy, calm down. What makes you a great dwarf?”
Alandris: “I’m the best dwarf. I’m a clan of one.”
Damien: “I guess that’s pretty good. I don’t know why Tyrgol is over there giggling.” He’s trying to keep a straight face as much as possible, I’m gonna do a Sense Motive on his face. Trying to giggle me!
Tyrgol: What do I have to do, Bluff?
Damien: Yes!
Tyrgol: Aww crap. Well, I actually rolled pretty well, 18.
DM: Don’t you have a Charisma penalty…?
Tyrgol: Yeah, I rolled a 19.
Damien: Uh, it’s even. I rolled 11, but my Sense Motive is 7 total, so I have an 18.
DM: You just barely realize he’s putting one over on you somehow.
Damien: “It looks like he’s trying to giggle, but he’s holding back.”
Alandris: “Well, obviously this dwarf knows I’m no match for him. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be the dwarven champion!
Damien: I’m starting to give him a second look, I’m not so sure any more.
DM: You won’t start to catch on for another hour now, actually.
Alandris: “Aye!”
Damien: “The earlier question, if you were going up against a large force, you had a small elite team with you, what would you do?”
DM: Oh hey, this is the only fucking way one of you will guys will ever have to answer this question in-character.
Alandris: “Aye!”
Damien: “Huh?”
Alandris: “Aye!”
Damien: “That… doesn’t really answer the question.”
Alandris: Aye!
Niobhe: So I have to do a Spot check? I just rolled a natural 20.
DM: You’ve caught on as well.
Damien: Oh man, I’m reminded of this time my friends let me hit on this lesbian, all night long.
Tyrgol: That’s real life, that’s not D&D.
Damien: That makes me realize even in real life, I have a very low Spot check, a very low Sense Motive…
DM: So in other words you have a very low Wisdom, I think is what we’re getting at.
Alandris: “Take a look here!” I pull out my mace… would the Crystal of Return actually let it Yoda-saber into my hand?
DM: Yes. Exactly.
Alandris: “Check this out!”
Damien: “That’s pretty cool, we have a person in our party who can do – where IS Alandris anyway? He isn’t here?” Do I recognize the mace?
Alandris: I never use it! “That sounds like an elven name! Why do you have an elven judge for Dwarven Idol?!”
Damien: “That’s a neat trick you got there, but zipping your mace out’s not gonna beat an army. So what will you do?”
Alandris: “Put the army in front of me and I’ll smack ‘em with it!”
Damien: (noticing Niobhe and Tyrgol exchanging looks and gestures) “Why aren’t you TALKING, I feel like something’s wrong here. You’ll smack ‘em with your mace, I don’t know if that’s… I guess it’s pretty dwarfy.”
Alandris: “Well what else do ya do with this thing?” I smack a table with it.
Tyrgol: “All right, all right, all right, excuse me… ‘Hendlar Hammerson’.”
Alandris: “Aye!”
Tyrgol: “Could you do me a favor? That’s a great big beard you have there, could you give it a tug?”
Alandris: “…Nay!”
Tyrgol: “I’m afraid you’re disqualified then.”
Alandris: “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Okay.” I walk back… so they can’t see the backs of my legs.
Damien: “Oh you guys are jerks! Something went wrong, didn’t it?!”
Niobhe: “Where is Alandris?”
Damien: “Where IS Alandris?”
Niobhe: “Where’s Alandris?”
Damien: “Asshole!”
Alandris: “But you knew that already.”
Damien: “You can interview the next guy.”
Alandris: “You knew I had to get you back for beating the crap out of me, right?’

The DM mercifully gives them a summation of the ten applicants who passed through their rigid qualifiers. Alandris is disqualified, despite the group imagining how hilarious it would be if he made it all the way to the end. Dirk was in the competition as well, to the reverence and awe of the group. Dirk reveals that Hendlar’s back in town!

Tyrgol: “Guess we’ll go down the questions. Combat expertise?”
DM: “Duh.”
Tyrgol: “Yeah.”
Damien: I was gonna say, why are you asked questions. “What would you do against an army?” “I would destroy them all.” “Yeah, probably.” He’s like the number one bodyguard in the kingdom…
DM: “Wait, hold on!” Zip, zip. “Sorry, had to stop an assassination.”
Damien: Hold on, that food is poisoned, let me scare it out. “Nyrrr!” Poison jumps out of the food and runs away.
Alandris: “Is that who I think it is?”
Damien: “That’s THE Dirk.”
Tyrgol: “I heard songs about him the other night in the bar.”
Damien: “I really don’t remember anything that happened the other night…”
DM: “Oh that old song. That’s so embarrassing.”
Damien: (singing) “And then Dirk got hit by arrows! And fell to the ground!”
DM: “I wish they hadn’t put that part in! I know it’s true, but still!”
Damien: “And then the paladin healed him, and then he did some stuff, and Dirk came back and killed.”
Alandris: “And when a door barred the way, Dirk reared up and smashed the day!”
DM: “And they we call became Canadian, eh!”
Niobhe: “Can I pet your beard?”
Damien: “… that’s kinda weird.”
DM: “Yeah, that is kinda weird, I’m a married man.”
Niobhe: “For luck!”
DM: “Well, I suppose…”
Damien: The moment she reaches him: “DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRK! ARE YOU LETTING AN ELF LADY TOUCH YOUR BEARD AGAIN!?”
DM: “She’s only half-elven, dear!”
Damien: “That’s worse! Is she half-dwarven-elven!”
DM: “No, dear!”
Damien: …would that happen? It’s not in the Player’s Handbook! Meta! Meta! Meta!
DM: Oh, it’s going off again, watch out for the robot!
Damien: EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! YOU DON’T REMEMBER! EXTERMINATE! “Is that a robot?” Meta! Meta! Meta!
DM: Oh, look out for the other robot!
Damien: The other robot destroys the first robot.
DM: Every time a meta alarm goes off, a robot shows up to eliminate the source of meta. But if you notice the robot, it too becomes meta, so another robot has to show up to take it out.
Damien: I wanna make this meta alarm now.
DM: Just get one of those Target buttons, reprogram what it says.

Tyrgol and Dirk chat. Damien vows his next game will be run on Ghouls and Ghosts rules, where one hit causes your armor to fly off, but you can make two Jump checks in a row. The DM gives them a final list of competitors, which sadly become almost entirely irrelevant… though some are good copy.

DM: Intriguingly, one Korm Illhome. He’s only know to be just another farmer, but one day he managed to kill off over 20 orcs using only a scythe, a pick, and bag of corn.
Alandris: I gotta know how that came…
Tyrgol: That raises a lot of questions…
DM: When his scythe blade broke, he switched to a pick. When the pick broke, he switched to beating the shit out of them with a bag of corn. That was the only one he didn’t roll a natural 1 with.

The DM plans for the next battle, and on that note, the game ends.